More Than One Way
by Miss Becky
Summary: Set two weeks after the events of "Tomorrow." Lilah finally gets what she wants.


More Than One Way  
  
By Miss Becky  
  
Summary: Set two weeks after the events of "Tomorrow." Lilah finally gets what she wants.  
  
Rating: G  
  
Spoilers: US Season 3  
  
*****  
  
It was hard to stand in a hall and put your clothes back on while maintaining your dignity, but Lilah Morgan had had lots of practice. And today she had gotten her shirt on before he had thrown her out, so that was better than some days.  
  
Behind her, she heard the door lock, and a very unladylike sound escaped her. As much as she hated to admit it, this wasn't working. Not that the sex wasn't good - hate was a powerful aphrodisiac, and he made her feel things she hadn't felt in years.  
  
But she was no closer to bringing him in, and that failure galled her. Her future with Wolfram and Hart was not as secure as she pretended, and she needed this. Angel Investigations had finally been broken, and it was unacceptable for the firm not to take advantage of this. If she could be the one to succeed where everyone else had failed, the Senior Partners would surely take notice. She would be assured of a promotion, possibly even to the twenty-first floor, and maybe then she wouldn't have to see Gavin's smug face every day in the halls.  
  
She slammed her foot into her shoe and pushed her hair back from her face. So. With Wesley's betrayal, the first crack had finally appeared in that bright Angel Investigations armor. Now they just needed to apply pressure along the fault, and watch the group shatter for good.  
  
And if at first you didn't succeed, well...there was more than one way to get what she wanted.  
  
Sometimes, she thought with a wry smile, the law even worked for you.  
  
****  
  
The newspaper was scattered across the living room. On the coffee table was a page featuring a photograph. The caption read, "Mysteriously Abandoned Vehicle Ties Up Traffic for Hours."  
  
Wesley stared at the photograph, although he knew it by heart. He knew that car. He had been there the day she had bought it. "Are you sure, Cordy?" and "Does it get good mileage?" and Angel fretting about rollovers and warranties and glaring at the salesmen in their plaid sports jackets.  
  
The newspaper was two weeks old. He was fast losing hope.  
  
Cordelia had been missing for two weeks, and they had not come for him. When he had first seen the photograph, he had felt a wild burst of selfish joy. They would surely need him now, need his help in finding their lost seer. There didn't have to be any forgiveness right away, but here was his chance to make amends and find redemption.  
  
But no one had come. No one had called. And Wesley was at last beginning to realize that no one would ever come.  
  
They did not need him anymore. They did not want him. He had betrayed their trust, and this exile was his just reward. Angel would never forgive him for taking Connor, and the vampire had all the time in the world to stoke his rage and desire for vengeance. It was not for nothing that Wesley had spent the last of his savings to pay a witch to do an un-invite spell on his flat.  
  
A knock sounded at the door, and he looked up, his mouth tightening with distaste. Only the middle of the afternoon, and she was here already. If he didn't know better, he would think she actually enjoyed coming here.  
  
But when he opened the door, all the snarky insults he had prepared just melted away. His visitor was not Lilah, Lilah already unbuttoning her blouse, unable to even wait until she got inside.  
  
There were two men, each in a stern suit. One of them was carrying a briefcase. They might have been selling religion, or encyclopedias.  
  
"Mr. Wyndham-Pryce?" asked one.  
  
Wesley stood a little straighter, reflexively responding to the note of authority in the man's voice. "Yes?"  
  
"Sir, my name is Gordon Jackson, and this is my associate, Peter Wells. We're from the INS. We'd like to ask you a few questions about the legality of your stay here in the United States."  
  
Wesley stared at the men in disbelief. Of all the things he had expected, this had not been one of them. He had never dreamed this day would come. The only question was who had done it.  
  
"Sir, may we come in?"  
  
"Get out," Wesley said, and closed the door in their faces.  
  
****  
  
Lilah was smirking. "I heard about your little visitors today," she said. "That's really a shame. Just when I was beginning to think I could get to like you."  
  
Wesley just stared at her. Now he knew who to thank. He set his glass on the table and stood up. "You bitch."  
  
"Oh please," Lilah scoffed. "Don't act like that's any revelation." She pursed her lips. "I'm just surprised it took a firm of laywers three years to think of this. Management really doesn't put forth as much effort as they used to, you know?"  
  
He longed to rail at her, hurl insults at her, slap her until she lost that smirk. But she had him, and she knew it. He could not fight this. Maybe if he was still a Watcher, and had the resources of the Council behind him, but not now. Instead all he could do was try not to let her see how badly she had gotten to him. "And you think this will work? You must be pretty desperate to stoop to this." He flashed a brittle grin at her. "I never knew playing hard to get could be such fun."  
  
For a moment she appeared genuinely curious. "So you'll just leave? You don't want to go back to England with your tail between your legs, do you?" She shrugged. "Then again, it's not like you've got anything -- or anyone -- keeping you here."  
  
She sat on the couch, kicked off her heels, and began peeling off her stockings. Her hair fell forward, obscuring her face. "You could do far worse than end up with us. And I hate to see a man of your . . . talents . . . wasted like this."  
  
"And yet here I am with you," Wesley said in disgust.  
  
She stood up, her eyes glinting. "I only knock on the door. You don't have to let me in." Her skirt dropped to the floor.  
  
****  
  
Walking the streets of LA alone at night wasn't the brightest idea in the world, but being drunk provided a wonderful sense of confidence, he thought. Well, that and the stake in his coat pocket. And he could take care of himself in a fight. These days he felt like he could tear apart anything that attacked him, and still have enough hate-driven strength afterward to stomp the resulting body parts into a pink smear on the asphalt.  
  
He stopped across the street from the Hyperion. What would they do if he came to them for help? If he told them what Lilah had done? Once they would have done everything in their power to help. They would have fought for him. Now he would be lucky if they went to the airport and waved good-bye as he climbed on the plane.  
  
He stared at the hotel. Lights were burning in the lobby and in two of the upstairs rooms. Fred and Gunn and Lorne were inside. Angel was inside. Possibly even Connor was there, bonding with his father in a sappy moment that must surely rival anything those made-for-TV movies strove for.  
  
Help me! Wesley wanted to scream. Don't you understand, I did it for you!  
  
There was no way he could return to England. He had spent his life trying to crawl out from under the shadow cast by his father. Before everything had gone to hell, he had begun to tentatively believe he was succeeding at this. Even if Fred didn't love him back, he had a good job and he had friends and family, and he was making a difference in the world. But if he went back to England, he would be forever reminded of how he had run away. His life right now might be a bare inch from hell, but it was a life he had created for himself, and he had to live it. He had failed at everything else he had ever tried. This was all he had left. He could not fail at this.  
  
And it might not be so bad. Lilah had promised that he would not be asked to do anything that would harm innocents. He did not believe she had ever made a promise she had kept, but it was a start. Hopefully they would stick him in a carrel in the library, ask him to translate a scroll or two, and then forget all about about him. He might even be able to learn more about Wolfram and Hart's inner sanctum, discover some of their weaknesses. Maybe even learn about the mysterious Senior Partners.  
  
A bitter laugh escaped him. Yes, learn their weaknesses. And then what? If he came back to the Hyperion with his dirty little secrets, did he really think they would welcome him back with open arms?  
  
The laugh threatened to become a sob. Disgusted with himself, Wesley turned to go. He could not stay here. Someone might look out a window and see him. And it was late. He had to go back home and get some sleep. He had to get up early tomorrow.  
  
He had a job to go to.  
  
*****  
  
END  
  
Author's Note: Mind you, I'd be devastated if this really happened on the show. But come to think of it, just why haven't Wolfram and Hart tried this tactic before now? I welcome your feedback. 


End file.
